


Truce

by threewalls



Series: Schirra [80]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: 715 OV, Archades, Banter, Blow Jobs, Collars, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Happy Ending, Kissing, Multi, Negotiations, Polyamory, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-05
Updated: 2008-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:10:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>It was a sign of the times that Vossler's hands weren't around his throat, and from his expression, that was something the pirate knew very well.</cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	Truce

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to lynndyre for the original idea for Balthier's brilliant plan and beta.

"Oh, no, this was a perfectly legitimate quest: a mark hunt, a fiend to be slain-- far from civilisation and questions of dubious legality."

Vossler growled, but subsided into his armchair. Unlike some people, he hadn't venerated outlaws as a boy, and did not suffer talk of the pirate's illegal exploits gladly. It struck Vossler as a sign of how far he'd come that he'd even think to believe a pirate, this pirate, could take on honest work. Sandals kicked off and long limbs sprawling over the sofa, Balthier was mostly in Basch's lap; it was a sign of the times that Vossler's hands weren't around his throat, and from his expression, that was something the pirate knew very well.

"A certain natural philosopher of this fair city was willing to pay handsomely for physical proof of an enormous wyrm rumoured to reside in the Jagd Yensa. Now, Fran and I have slain a few dragons in our time, a few significantly larger than the others, and we do like an excuse to visit you two."

Balthier leant even further back against Basch's chest, so that Basch could better appreciate the nanna eyes he made.

Basch looked at Vossler. He was grinning, the dyed leather collar around his neck and the late afternoon sunlight slanting into the salon making his eyes very blue, his jaw and lips edged in gold.

Vossler nodded; Basch kissed Balthier, and Vossler did not look away, but spread his knees wider for comfort and sucked another mouthful from his long-stemmed beer-bottle, not giving the pirate the satisfaction. Of the three, Balthier's was the only bare neck, and he could count on Fran's indulgence if caught starting something without her.

However, you couldn't tell a story with your tongue in another man's mouth. Vossler knew that Balthier couldn't-- and he didn't-- resist that pull for very long.

"The thing about dragons," Balthier continued, licking Basch from the corners of his mouth, "is that they hoard-- coin, plate-ware, weapons, armour, jewels, indeed, anything that catches the light has the potential to catch their fancy-- and the bigger the dragon, more significant the hoard. Naturally, such base concerns are not for natural philosophers, for whom experience has proven mere scales will content, which left plenty of space in our hold for choice, curious artefacts dredged from beneath the beast's cooling corpse."

Coming up behind Vossler, Fran's footsteps clipped on the tile, though the door's latch had remained silent. She stopped, but did not speak. Vossler turned to look.

Fran had only a foot on the sword she balanced lengthways against the guard on her thigh, and viera were tall. Vossler could see the nick on the left side that Basch's axe had made blocking his strike, that last time. They'd acid-drenched away the gore he'd left on her, sanded away the rust, and oiled her, his Nightmare, to a dull, dark gleam. Though scarred, she had found her way back to him.

Vossler took a step forward and realised that he was standing, with no memory of leaving his seat. With the next, he was beside her, the hilt a memory from another life against his palm. Fran's lips were warm and hard against his.

"You wouldn't know anyone in the market for an huge, ugly, antique sword, would you?" Balthier called. Basch held him in place on the couch.

Vossler set Nightmare by the wall. They were all here, and now anything was fair.

He went for Balthier's bare neck-- perfect for wringing, except his hands seemed to slide upwards, cupping his head, Vossler choking Balthier with his tongue, the other man smirking instead of fighting him. Vossler threw his body weight into his assault. Someone else's broad, hot hands were sliding up under his linen shirt, and sharper nails were scoring along his spine. The fingers unbuttoning his fly stuttered when Vossler's mouth dropped to suck on Balthier's pulse point--

"I'd say I was expecting a 'thank you', but that seems, ah, disingenuous at this junction."

"Do you ever shut up?" Vossler straightened, threw his shirt off over his head. He felt Fran's freed breasts pressing close behind him; he stiffened as her arm wrapped around and down his body, spreading for her long-fingered hand cupping his groin, her nails tapping back across his hole.

"Suck him first." Fran's tone was equally command or suggestion, and only disoriented Vossler more. "Then, fuck me."

That silenced the pirate, for a moment or two ("Fran?"-- "Fran!"), as did Basch's hands working under his shirts. Fran released Vossler and climbed onto the far end of the couch, helping Basch untangle Balthier from his several layers.

Vossler sank to his knees, yanked open the buttons on Balthier's fly. No matter how many times they did this, four people always wore too many clothes.

"I have a bed," Basch said, now pinned under two kissing pirates. "A large bed. Just in the next room."

Vossler couldn't raise his eyes, almost couldn't breathe, in case being on his knees was _wrong_ , but Basch's thick fingers were trailing along the edge of Vossler's collar. One hooked underneath, drawing Vossler forward. Fran's dark hand guided Balthier's cock towards his mouth.

Vossler glared at Balthier. "Yes, I like my sword."

"Don't we all," retorted Balthier, his hips leaping as Fran stroked him. "And I haven't even commented on the size of the thing."

For that, Vossler refused to swallow more than the head. This round.


End file.
